


A Lonely Night in London

by bedwyrssong



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedwyrssong/pseuds/bedwyrssong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy wishes he had said goodbye to Thomas in an entirely different manner. Smut/angst/god knows what. S5 spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lonely Night in London

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after s5e2. Don't ask me about the ending; I don't know either.

Jimmy hadn’t planned to come to London exactly. He had merely gotten on a train and ridden it until it seemed the right time to get off. And London seemed right, mostly because Jimmy felt lost, and there was no better place to get lost in than a big city.

He took a room in a dingy little hotel in some out-of-the-way neighborhood that seemed mostly dirt and streetlights.

As he set his only suitcase on the rickety floorboards and stared at the faded quilt covering what would be his bed for the night, he felt a smirk coming to his lips.

Why was he so upset about leaving Downton? He hadn’t many friends there—Mr. Carson and the others had always preferred Alfred—and he’d never liked the idea of being in service, waiting hand and foot on people who thought they were better than him.

He’d much prefer being waited on, himself. He imagined a fleet of handsome male servants hanging on his every word, proving their devotion in ways both proper and scandalous.  _That_ broadened the smirk into a smile, and left it hanging there for a few moments, until he realized that, in his mind’s eye, every one of the servants wore Thomas’s face.

_Thomas._

He felt suddenly weak and sat down on the bed, remembering that he hadn’t eaten since Mrs. Patmore fried an egg for him that morning. That seemed lifetimes ago now. But it wasn’t food that Jimmy hungered for.

_Thomas._

He felt the tears coming again. After they parted he’d cried all the way to the station, where he’d wiped his cheeks clean and settled into the daze that had brought him to this moment, alone and far away from the one person in the world that he cared for.

But even as the sadness rose in his throat, something else was stirring in his trousers. Of course. It was hard enough to keep calm when thinking of Thomas during the day, but here, sitting on a bed, at night, in the kind of strange natty hotel that drunken mates might stumble into for a secret fuck….

“ _Christ_ ,” Jimmy hissed, running his hand over his crotch.

With a sigh, he swung his legs up to rest at the foot of the bed, and lowered his head onto the pillow. He didn't stop to take off his clothes--not even his hat--he was so focused on his need. As soon as he undid his trousers, his cock sprung up, already hard, and his grasped it with unmerciful firmness.

This was not a night to be gentle with himself.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered as he stroked up and down, precum dripping down his knuckles.

Stupid to have slept with Lady Anstruther when the man who loved him heart and soul stood outside in the hallway, less than two dozen paces away. Stupid to have done such a poor job of telling Thomas how much he cared as they said goodbye.

Stupid, when he had nothing else to lose, not to have finally given Thomas what he wanted.

What they both wanted.

He bit his lip, and imagined it was the older man’s teeth that were grazing it as he worked hungrily at Jimmy’s mouth. They wouldn’t be terribly gentle with each other either, he didn’t think, all that repressed passion bursting out of them, the pain of their imminent parting spurring them to know as much about each other’s touch, taste, and smell as they could in so short a time.

He switched hands, lifted his right hand to his mouth, licked it, and brought it back down to his cock. It wasn’t his hand, he decided as he closed his eyes, it was Thomas’s lips, his pale, plush lips, which Jimmy had so often seen puckered about a lit cigarette. Now they were wrapped about something much larger. When Jimmy had dropped his trousers, Thomas, kneeling before him, had grinned up at him through his tears, and that had made him even harder, if that were possible, made him thrust insistently towards Thomas’s waiting lips.

He was bucking wildly now, his trousers inching further down his legs every time his body arched up to fuck his tight fist. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, inadvertently knocked his hat off his head, then trailed his fingers through his normally flawless, now quite unkempt hair. It always amazed him how hot he was able to make himself, with just his hand and thoughts of Mr. Barrow. Far hotter than he felt the night before, with Lady Anstruther, although even then he had closed his eyes a few times and pretended he was with Thomas instead.

Almost automatically his free hand drifted down to explore his smooth arse, searching until he found his small, puckered hole, straining as if it longed for this as much as the rest of him did. He didn’t remember how he had learned that this was how men coupled, or that he enjoyed simulating it, or which came first. Normally he was cautious when it came to this bit, but tonight he immediately wedged all three of his middle fingers up inside of him, and choked back a lurid scream.

Now he was no longer lying on his back on a bed, but pressed up against the wall of Downton’s boot room. Thomas, as delighted with his arse as he had been with his prick, was fucking him furiously into the wall as his hand reached around to jerk him off. Thomas’s own cock was long, thick, and ribbed with veins, and Jimmy loved it, loved the sensations of pain and pleasure it sent coursing through his body, loved the feeling of Thomas’s arm wrapped around him, the filthy things he whispered in his ear, the way the heat of their bodies seemed to burn through their very clothes, making them one.

Suddenly he arched back so that his head rested on Thomas’s strong shoulder, gave out a moan that rose up out of somewhere deep inside him …

 … and shot a load of cum that landed on his face, mingling with tears he hadn’t realized until now that he had shed. It was followed by smaller spurts that landed on his coat and jacket, and Jimmy didn’t care, didn’t care that these were the best clothes he owned, didn’t care that he might have ruined them, didn’t care that someone might come in and see him in such a state, say if there was another fire for example, didn’t care about anything because he was alone in a moldy hotel in London, hours away from Thomas, with no guarantee that they’d ever see each other again.

As he lay there, his trousers gathered about his ankles, his hat upside down on the floor, tired and teary-eyed and spent on the quilted bedsheet, he thought how different their actual parting was, how little reassurance he gave himself—or Thomas—that this wasn’t the end between them.

_I’m not much at letter-writing. I’ll do my best._

Jimmy was a bloody idiot—he knew that now—but even he wasn’t that stupid, to completely throw away the one good thing that had ever happened to him. Of course he would write Thomas. He would buy a postcard tomorrow, let him know that he was in London, put a bright face on things. But now, in the dimness of his room, he whispered the words he would never be able to put on paper.

"Dear Thomas," he breathed, "I love you. I … I think I’ve loved you a long time. Maybe almost as long as you’ve loved me. God, I want you so badly it scares me. I want to hear your voice … whispering sweet things to me, want to feel your lips on my lips, want to feel your hands touching me. I remember how you used to touch me. It was like … like you couldn’t bear not to, and I loved it, but it scared me that I loved it. I don’t want to be scared anymore Thomas, my … my love. Hold me in your arms until I’m not scared anymore."

He turned toward the wall, kissed the pillow beside him in one last piece of pretend, imagining it was Thomas. And as he drifted off into the world of dreams, a phantom Thomas appeared at the very edge of the bed, pressed up against the wall, and kissed the pillow as well, a slow smile playing at his lips.

_"Of course, Jimmy."_

 


End file.
